A/N: So basically, this was my reward to myself. I was going nuts with ideas for this, and I had a literature paper to do, among other projects… so I promised myself that the second I finished my literature paper, I would get straight to work here.

…It did not work.

So here I am, four hours later, with only three and a half (admittedly long) sentences on my schoolwork document, fifty Fanfiction tabs open (JamesxLily, ScoRose, Klaine, Finchel, Puckleberry, and TenRose), three YouTube videos loading (Darren Criss, Darren Criss, and yet another Darren Criss), Gmail open, and four simultaneous chats pinging at me, and that doesn't even include all the things going on on my iPhone.

If only I could use my multi-tasking powers for good.

Anyways, like a parent giving up on a very small child, I'll write this, eat, sleep, and hopefully finish my literature and math papers tomorrow.

So I don't own Glee. Let's just get that out of the way for the people who aren't yet aware of that. This is just my (wishful) take on BIOTA.

ONWARDS! (Huzzah ;D)

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Kurt is pretty sure that as far as nightmares go, this one takes the cake.

And the bakery, and the rest of the parking lot, as well. Might as well throw in the whole city, too.

Because no nightmare, no matter how messed up, should ever contain Rachel Berry, Finn, Blaine, and Mercedes sitting, drunk, on the front porch, talking about him.

Right after a game of Spin the Bottle, which, to put it mildly, was not unlike a plane crash, instead of the wholly tame "train wreck" he was promised.

Add into the equation that four of his friends (or so he thought) are so drunk that they think they are being quiet, when in fact they are louder than the whole party, music included, combined—

Well, Kurt's never had a nightmare quite like this before.

Leaning against the door and hoping against hope that the red, white, and blue lights are for an early Fourth of July celebration, rather than police cars, he can make out Blaine's face turning steadily redder as Rachel and Mercedes laugh about something Finn has just said with utmost seriousness.

"—No, really," Finn is saying. "He told me. He told me he liiiiikes you."

"He did?" Blaine blabbers loudly, making Kurt smile a little bit at how innocent he seems when drunk. Innocent when drunk. Kurt snickers at this oxymoron before tuning in again to the conversation. "I— I—I—"

Rachel starts cracking up here, pointing and laughing (who does that anymore?) at Blaine's flustered expression. "You looooooooove him!" she sings, and then slaps his shoulder when he shakes his head helplessly. "Don't lie, you tooooold me!" She turns to Finn and Mercedes, who are still chuckling, to get their attention. "He said kissing me didn't matter because he's in love with Blaine!"

Blaine eyes her strangely at her declaration of his supposed narcissism and Kurt suppresses a laugh, his shoulders shaking as Mercedes and Finn begin to guffaw and Rachel, too, starts chortling when she realizes what she said.

Really, Kurt doesn't know why he's laughing. Usually he would be hurt by this, because he knows what Rachel is trying to say, and he doesn't know who.

It is entertaining, though, to see Rachel laughing at herself for once.

"That's not what I meant!" Rachel tries desperately to breathe, clutching at her abs in a mixture of pain and a large lack of control. "I mean he loves –"

Blaine claps his hand over her mouth, sending her tipping over in her chair. Catching herself right before she falls, she gives him a stern look, but remains quiet.

Blaine continues to flush at Mercedes's and Finn's amusement until he has turned every possible shade of the rainbow, purple (strangely enough) included, and Kurt wonders briefly if maybe he should take him to a hospital lest he turns into a poofy-haired, rainbow colored hobbit.

"I'm fine—" Blaine mutters impatiently, and Kurt realizes that he has been speaking his thoughts aloud from the second he stepped foot on the porch. Looking down in shock, he finds that the buzz he was supposedly receiving from his caffeinated, carbonated drink was actually coming from something that looked rather like vodka.

Well, this explains the hobbit train of thought.

Mercedes cackles (yes, cackles) at this before slapping her knee like a bad western actor, and Rachel stares at her, eyebrows raised.

Clearly, Miss Diva is not as inebriated as the rest of them.

But then Rachel opens her mouth and bellows out a frightening sort of laugh, upturns her chair, and topples over the porch into the bushes on the side.

"All right?" Finn shouts nonchalantly, and her response is a series of unintelligible giggles which the rest of them nod sagely along to. Finn lumbers over anyways, tips over the side of the porch, and a series of highly awkward smacking sounds are audible over the now quiet group.

Mercedes, Blaine, and Kurt are now looking at each other in a mixture of relief and horror as they hear Rachel giggle and Finn chuckle breathlessly. It's when Finn starts murmuring something along the lines of "You know what I've been thinking?" that the three remaining singers hop to their feet and all but sprint inside the house.

Kurt goes straight for the refreshments table. Keeping an eye on the TV, which is showing some program about a tall man with strange hair and a blue box, he realizes that it is only seven, despite the fact that they are all drunk enough to go straight to sleep.

Despite this enormous inebriation, almost everyone is still standing. Next to Artie, who is facing the television and holding Brittany's hand, Quinn is only barely swaying as she tries to explain what a "space-time continuum" is to Brittany, who is avidly watching the television, albeit with a frown on her face. Puck is lying on the sofa, talking to Mike Chang, who is multitasking— listening to Puck's dilemma with the not-present "Laurie Z." (whose name, though mainly unintelligible, resembles an illness he once heard of) and making out Tina. Sam is talking to the wall in some language that no one can understand, and Santana, who is munching on three breadsticks at the same time, is looking at him with such an exasperatedly confused expression that Kurt has to laugh again.

So Rachel is down, and Finn is, as well. Chuckling slightly at his almost-football-pun, Kurt turns and almost runs into Blaine.

But Kurt cannot register Blaine as a whole. Rather, he registers little bits of Blaine— his height, his shoulder width, his lips, his eyes, his cheekbones, his lips, his eyes, his hair, the little piece of hair that has come undone from his statue of gel and is right over one of his eyes, twisting adorably into a little corkscrew as a few more jump down to join it, all pointing at—

And then Kurt realizes that he is extremely intoxicated, and needs to go upstairs, or downstairs— whichever, all he knows is he definitely remembers stairs— and into some room, or bathroom, and just sit by himself with a jug of orange juice until he feels sober again.

Which is all very well and good, except that he's still in Blaine's arms, and he's still continuing exactly the same action which made him realize exactly how drunk he is.

And Blaine's lips are so soft and gentle and smooth, and his hands are twisting in Kurt's hair, tugging just enough to make him sigh, and now he can taste him, and there is… there is… there is…

There is not nearly enough alcohol on Blaine's lips to make him as drunk as Kurt thought he was.

Kurt makes a split second decision, pushing Blaine away. His eyes register hurt before Kurt grabs his shirt's neckline and drags him out to the other side of the porch.

Entirely unsure of his plan, yet uninhibited by the alcohol, Kurt slams Blaine into the side of the house and presses himself into his personal space bubble. Aware that he is acting completely out of character, he touches his lips to Blaine' aggressively, separating his gelled hair expertly so that it falls into the mop top he has always been fascinated by. Blaine groans, pushing his tongue into Kurt's, and allowing it to caress the roof of the taller boy's mouth.

At last, Blaine's hands find their way to Kurt's hair, his shoulders, his waist, the small of his back—

Kurt snaps into action, jumping back and smoothing his hair with an eyebrow raised. "I can't kiss you," he teased, noting Blaine's confused expression before ducking his head to whisper in his ear. "I might be taking advantage—"

He gasps wildly as Blaine yanks him down and murmurs "I'm not drunk," against his lips. They stare at each other, eyes wide despite their close embrace, and Kurt's lips turn up into a devious smile.

"I know," he murmurs, winding a finger around a lock of Blaine's hair and tugging on it slightly to elicit a sharp intake of breath.

Blaine shuts his eyes tightly. "Then why—?"

"Why did you pretend?" Kurt finishes, aiming the question at Blaine instead of himself, and Blaine colors a little.

"Coward." Blaine shrugs, and Kurt smiles a little, a dimple forming on the lower line of his jaw.

"Courage." Kurt reminds him, brushing a lock of hair away from his face, and the tenderness of the moment is tangible. It is the air they breathe, the whispered touches, the soft murmurs.

Blaine cups his hands around Kurt's chin, gently rubbing his cheeks. "You seem to be a little intoxicated."

"Tipsy," Kurt dismisses, and Blaine knows it is true through the mannerisms and the large vocabulary and generally casual formality that are Kurt.

Kurt leans down to brush lips, slowly shutting his eyes before Blaine stops him with a death grip on his shoulder and an anxious expression.

"After this…" he trails off. "There won't be any more cowardice. Is that… okay?" And in case Kurt does not understand (which he does, so very much— he's just speechless at the utter courage of the boy in front of him), he twines his hands in Kurt's and gives him the most meaningful look he has ever given anybody in his life.

"Courage." Kurt says quietly, gently squeezing Blaine's hands in acceptance. And Blaine, who has never had anybody so special accept him before in his life, allows his eyes to turn shimmery with tears as he flings his arms around Kurt, kissing him fiercely.

Mercedes watches the two boys embracing outside and promptly drops the blinds with Rachel's help, turning around to face the rest of the Glee-clubbers, who are watching the two divas anxiously.

Rachel and Mercedes look at each other with suppressed smiles before exploding. "It worked!"

The members of New Directions cheer to celebrate "their boy finally getting with his soul mate" as Puck so eloquently puts it, forgetting Lauren for a moment. Sam is pumping his fist in the air, Santana (who is chewing on yet another breadstick) looks relieved to find her boyfriend out of his strange, unknown-language-speaking character, Quinn is thankful to not have to sway anymore, Tina and Mike are kissing, Artie and Finn are hugging (Finn is smiling at Rachel over Artie's shoulder, because their kiss, though staged, was still real), Rachel and Mercedes are figuring out how to clean Rachel's house, and Blaine and Kurt are in their own world. Only Brittany is sitting by the TV, watching the credits roll, and the whooshing and galloping music go by as she continues to question in her quiet voice, "Wait, you guys. What's a space-time continuum?"

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A/N: There it was.

A funny tidbit; when I was writing about Kurt throwing Blaine into the wall and all that, when Blaine starts kissing him more ahem thoroughly, I accidentally put that he tossed his tongue into Kurt's mouth. Then I went back and realized why it sounded so strange. What a bizarre mental image.

Anyways, love it, hate it? Let me know! Review! (I always respond if you're signed in…in case you want to talk to a highly amusing, awesome person… just kidding. But I will respond, so please review!)

And I stole cookies from both the dark side and the light side. They're all here. You get one when you review. :)